The light touch of Ah Cum's hand upon her arm broke the thread of retrospective thought; and her gray eyes began to register again the things she saw. Did he track her? She was unaware if he did. I must leave England to-night. “Why not?” He repeated, demanding. But what a monster was this Emile. But if we had gone under—!” They regarded one another silently, and Ann Veronica had one of her penetrating flashes. What you want to do is to imagine every woman a Becky Sharp and every man a Rawdon Crawley. And not a worthy tome in sight. “He must never know,” she would whisper to herself, “he must never know. He folded the garments carefully and replaced them on the chair. “You know,” he went on, “this doesn’t seem to me to end anything. This was no night for the indulgence of dreamy musing.
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